


Firstborn

by pokeasleepingsmaug



Series: Sons [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 18:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11468982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokeasleepingsmaug/pseuds/pokeasleepingsmaug
Summary: A short drabble from Aslaug's point of view at Ubbe's birth.





	Firstborn

She had been scared at the drench of fluid between her legs, terrified as the first pains gripped her belly and back. For hours she had walked and walked, back and forth, back and forth, leaning on the midwife, gripping her forearms until they bruised. The kind old woman only sucked at her teeth and crooned nonsense, showed her the purring cat delivering her litter of kittens in the corner.

“See how she purrs as she brings her babes forth? Be as peaceful as she is.” She wasn’t sure who she hated more, the damn purring cat or the doddering old crone. The pain ripped screams from her throat; they brought Ragnar peeking around the corner. One glance at her and he must have seen the anger twisting in her eyes; he sent the midwife away. Helped her down to her hands and knees.

He was so proud, so kingly and fierce, it was easy to forget he had once been a farmer. Helping creatures with birthings had once been just as much a part of his life as raiding and feasting were now. And prideful as Aslaug was, with all the confidence she had walked into his life with; now she was frightened. He steadied her with the patient hands of a farmer, more competent than any midwife.

She had not been afraid when he laid her down beneath the stars, beneath that giant old ash some claimed was Yggdrasil itself. She had not been frightened when her womb began to quicken, the first flutter of life a thrill. Even coming to Kattegat, to an uncertain reception from Ragnar and the icy glares of his first wife, she had not been afraid.

Ragnar’s hand rubbed her lower back between her hips, he planted a chaste kiss in the sweaty waves of her hair before tying it in a knot at the nape of her neck. He murmured to her as he might a frightened young broodmare, calling her his good girl and encouraging her with kind words and gentle hands. Never before had she been so terrified of anything as of this all-consuming agony, this small thing that seemed to shatter her very bones; to turn every muscle to a raging flame.

And through it all was Ragnar, steady, experienced where she was green; silent when she screamed and cried, begging for the mother she had never known to take away this pain that threatened to sweep her away.

But all that was forgotten when Ragnar showed her the small thing, the cause of all that awful pain. He was so small and quiet, with wet fuzzy hair and skin covered still in blood and other fluids. His eyes blinked slowly open, clearest blue sky, deepest ocean, and she knew immediately she was lost, swept away in the riptide of motherhood.

And she saw him, her dear boy Ubbe, tall and strong with long braided hair, a smile like the first light of a new dawn. He was laughing, happy, sword in hand.

But now, now he was small, tiny fists waving in the air and drawing breath to release his first cry. Ragnar rocked back on his heels but he was nothing now, a small star on the horizon of her world. But this, her firstborn, the one who would grow tall and kind: he was the breathtaking miracle of lights dancing across the black sky in the dead of winter.


End file.
